The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Happy Valentine’s Day!

Part 9 — Lauren Stewart!


This could have been your story. This was yet another winning submission to the contest.


Brian decides to break up with his bitch of a girlfriend but sends a very impactful message to a unique contest first.


This story is a work of fiction; any apparent resemblance between the characters in this story and any actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental and unintentional.

Do not read this story if you are under the age of 18 or if explicit sexual fiction is illegal in your jurisdiction.

This story contains mind control and explicit descriptions of a sexual nature. If any of these concepts disturb you, please find something else to read.

This story is a work of erotic fantasy. It is not meant to reflect real life, nor should it be read as an endorsement of the actions and attitudes contained within.

All stories start with “What if?” the Weaver’s most powerful tool.

What if, for instance, the Weaver decided to host a writing contest for lovers on Valentine’s Day. A contest wherein the prize is completely decided by the writing… and everyone is a winner.

* * *


My girlfriend is a bitch.

She ruins everything.

Family parties, weddings, friendships, holidays… you name it and she’s ruined it for me. So, of course, Valentine’s Day is no exception.

She awoke to breakfast in bed this morning. I made her heart pancakes with fresh strawberries and a strawberry glaze. That takes a lot of effort to get right. You’d think she wouldn’t be able to find fault with breakfast in bed, but then again, she can find fault in anything.

“You know that’s not what a heart looks like, dip shit. You’re going to be a doctor. Act like one.”

Seeing as we’re both med students, yes… yes, I did know that.

“You’re just buying in on a completely fucking fabricated holiday built up by the chocolate makers and the card printers like all the other sheep and lemmings.”

Once she said that, I decided that I wouldn’t hand her the card I had stashed near the bed. Perturbed, she gets up off of the bed and I catch a good glimpse of her firm, panty-clad ass before she pulls her sweatpants up over it. She pulls an oversized t-shirt over her sports bra and leaves, fuming, without so much as a goodbye kiss for all my effort.

I eat her pancakes.

Despite them being a little cold, they’re still quite good. I’m apparently pretty good at following online directions.

A better girlfriend would appreciate them.

A better girlfriend would appreciate me.

I deserve to be happy.

This is the last holiday… this is the last day that Lauren ruins for me.

I pull my laptop on and look up “what’s the best way to break up with someone on Valentine’s Day via text?”

It’s not the most accurate search return, but something about this text —

No one celebrates love like The Weaver. As such, this St. Valentine’s Day, I want you to write me a story about your significant other. Tell me who you are and who they are. The story aspect though is for you to tell me who you want them to be. Unleash your fantasies onto the page and you could win a truly memorable prize to share this holiday. Send your stories to

— makes me feel like I should write our goodbye this way.

My name is Brian Phillips. My girlfriend Lauren Stewart is a problem, actually. We are not in hearts and rainbows love. I don’t know that we ever were. At first, Lauren’s bitchiness was actually a breath of fresh air, but Lauren’s crass, foul-mouthed, cynical attitude has worn me down and I’m finally done with it.

I deserve love.

I deserve to be happy.

I think my next girlfriend will be the exact opposite of Lauren.

Instead of a lithe athletic build, she’ll be voluptuous with big breasts and an even bigger ass.

Instead of short, dark hair, she’ll have long golden ringlets.

She’ll love makeup and dress up and girly things. She’ll love holidays, and family, and all of the simple pleasures that Lauren ignores.

Instead of attitude, she’ll be warm, loving, and giving.

She’ll be sweet through and through.

And quite unlike foul-mouthed Lauren, she’ll never swear.

And we’ll have sex all of the time.

And she’ll orgasm every time.

… and maybe she’ll be a little dumber because I’m tired of arguing semantics.

I click submit, feeling pleased with this fake Lauren I’ve created in my mind and in the story. Immediately after, I get a very unexpected response telling me —

You are a winner!


I can’t stand Brian, I think as I get into the elevator to leave his apartment and go back to mine. He’s a dumbass troglodyte. He doesn’t engage my mind like he used to. Maybe he never did. Maybe I just gave him the benefit of the doubt because he seems to do well at school. Maybe he’s book smart but otherwise a lost cause.

Anyway, we’re totally fucking done.

When I reach the lobby, my mind’s made up.

I exit the elevator only to hit the up button.

I’m going back up to his apartment, telling him we’re through, and gathering up my stuff. None of his simpering or pleading will have an effect on me.

The elevator opens back up with the up arrow above it illuminated.

I step on and hit the twenty-second floor.

I wish his buildings had faster elevators.

This slow journey is fucking killing me.

So is this lame-ass fucking elevator Muzak.

Actually, when I really listen to it, it’s kind of nice. It’s simple and soothing. I close my eyes and start to bop my head along to it.

When I open my eyes, the reflection in the elevator doors isn’t my own.

She’s cute.

What? She’s not cute. She’s some kind of blonde-haired, blue-eyed Barbie clone enslaved to a cultural ideal.

I love how she’s covered in pink… except for the spots where she isn’t. I love those spots even more.

Her cleavage alone is going to set the women’s movement back a decade. Not to mention the fact that she’s showing midriff as well. Who is this girl? And I normally don’t call grown women girls, but really, who wears that much pink?

Aw, look at her smile. Look at how happy she is.

She probably looks so happy because she’s a total moron.

Her eyes…

My eyes… I reach up and cup one of my breasts. The reflection does the same. It feels heavy, full in my hand. What the fuck is happening to me?

Oooh. My boobie feels so good. They’re real and really big. I can’t wait for Brian to see them… and me…

I’m going up there to break up with —

I’m going up there to get with —

He’s such a moron.

He’s a big strong man who will take care of widdle ol’ me.

I hate —

— that I’m not already there in his arms.

I’m not like this, I’m usually —

— peppier. Perkier. Constantly ready to put out.

I stomp my foot, encased on a platform sneaker against the floor of the elevator. It sends ripples up through my body, mostly my tits and my ass. My body was so toned, now there are curves everywhere and I fu—

—freakin’ love them. Curves let you know a woman is a woman. Curves say, “Come on world, let’s do this.”

I’m not her. I’m not this girl. I was never this girl.

I can’t be this girl.

The elevator dings. I look up to see I’m on the twenty-second floor.

When I step through the threshold, the tug-of-war ends and I’m at peace with who I am.

I skip down the hall, excited to see my true love Brian again. If I had my way, I’d never leave his arms. I’ll have to be extra nice to him, since it’s Valentine’s Day, like, my favoritest day of the year. That, and his birthday. Really, all days that end in “y.”


I hear the door open and expect Lauren to unload another of her unprompted and tireless tirades upon me. I brace myself and nearly walk through a perky, bubbly blonde in the center of my living room.

“Hello?” I ask, eyebrows raised in wonder.

“Like, Brian. Like hi!”

The blonde reaches her arms up over my head and pulls me down into a kiss so steamy that it nearly blows my socks off my feet.

Crap. What if Lauren comes in and finds me kissing this girl? She’d probably kill her… and then me… I’ve got to get her out of here for our mutual safety.

“I don’t know how you know my name, but… you should probably go.”

Checking out her sexy body I’m going to hate to see her leave, but I’ll love to watch. Her pink short shorts show the bottoms of her ass. Her tied-off pink shirt shows her pierced belly button and ample cleavage.

She laughs off my suggestion to leave, saying, “Silly Billy. You know my name. I’m your Valley-tine. I’m Lauren. You’re little La-La…”

She goes to wrap her arms around me again and I somehow narrowly avoid it.

Ah… Lauren put this girl up to this. Probably wanted to see if I’d cheat on her. She probably wants to win our breakup by proving that I’m some sort of pig who will drop his pants for the first slutty girl that enters his apartment.

I find my phone.

I’m going to call her.

This is too much. I’m giving her a piece of my mind.

I call Lauren’s phone and hear it ring through my apartment. I watch the vivacious blonde in my living room pick up.

“Hello? Go for Lauren.”

That’s exactly how Lauren answers her phone. If I take a step back from the glaring differences, I see the similarities. Her face, when you disregard the hair, looks like Lauren.

She looks at her phone. “Hello? Anyone there?”

Her voice, when you remove the actual friendliness, sounds like Lauren.

“What’s your mom’s name?” I ask through the phone.

“Carolyn.” She says.

“And your dad’s?”


I spy her through the hallway and see the little birthmark just above her hip. She was always too clothed to make it readily viewable, but I’ve seen her naked once or twice and I’ve completely charted her body.

Somehow, this blonde is Lauren.

Then, it strikes me… that story contest. This is the Lauren I asked for. How is this possible? Holy shit. I’ve somehow bimbo-ized my girlfriend.

“Hello?” Lauren says into her phone, still waiting for another response while I suss this situation out.

I walk to her and tell her, “It’s okay. Hang up.”

She beams at me. “Okie dokie. We gonna do it now?”

“Yes,” I say, confidently. “Yes, we are.”

I don’t even bother to take this Lauren to the bedroom. She’s built to do it anywhere and everywhere. The living room floor is just as good for her. Leaning into her neck to kiss her, I notice that she smells sweet, like bubblegum. I untie the shirt to free up her new tits. They’re big, beautiful, and when I kiss them, they actually taste like bubblegum. My “new” girlfriend is literally sweet as candy — sweet enough to give me cavities. I have to know if her pussy follows suit, so I peel off her short shorts, discovering that she’s panty-free. I dip a finger into her already wet pussy and bring it to my mouth for a taste — cherries.

I remember writing — sweet through and through.

Fuckin’ a. Good call, past me. She’s fucking delicious.

Thinking back, I want to test other things.

“Tell me you want me to fuck you,” I command.

“I want you inside me,” she moans.

“Tell me you want me to fuck you,” I repeat.

“I want you to do me,” she moans out.

Lauren — potty-mouth Lauren — can’t swear anymore.

Suddenly sweet and innocent… and such a fucking turn-on that my cock tents my pants. Lauren sees this and coos at it.

“Looks like you’ve brought me a sucker,” she says and she tears through my pants to get at it.

Old Lauren wasn’t big on blowjobs. She thought they were demeaning.

New and revised Lauren goes to town on my dick like it’s her job and guess what? She’s very good at her job. She’d easily take a spot on the podium in the dick-sucking Olympics.

I play with her tits as she deep-throats me. She wiggles with every tit rub and nipple pinch. She’s clearly wired for sex and pleasure and I plan on giving her as much of the both of them as possible. I lift her up, flipping her around so that I can lap at her sweet pussy as she sucks on my cock. We cum together. She squeals in delight. “Oh, baby,” she says, “You’re the absolute best-est!”

I run back to my room and grab the card I bought.

She opens it and she looks so happy she could cry. She then gazes up at me with adoring, judgment-free eyes and says, “Someone wants me to lick their sucker again.”

I do. I want her mouth back on my cock. I want her pussy on my cock. I want to bury my face in that pussy. I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life exploring every inch of her toothsome body with my tongue, hands, and dick.

“You know what? Instead of sucking, I think you should ride me.”

She jumps up and down, bouncing and nearly knocking herself out with her jiggling tits.

“Goody goody goody. I love bouncing and bouncing and bouncing…”

Naked, she runs to the bedroom and leaps onto the bed, still chanting “and bouncing” over and over and bouncing like some sexy perverted female pogo stick. My entire apartment smells like candy. I’m somehow already hard again, breathing it in. I may have equally blessed myself with my wish.

I follow after her, dick aching to be inside of her, thanking whatever god or entity or universal force made this wish come true because I absolutely adore my newly bubbly Valentine.